Smoke
by eternitysky
Summary: Yamato has picked up a habit that Taichi doesn't like. But Yamato doesn't like what Taichi is doing either. /Taito/


Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon or anything affiliated with it. FML.

I dedicate this to the fans that are still reading and writing for this fandom. It's been ten years, guys. Whatever character and couple you may support. Let's keep going.

**Smoke**

I take the first drag and the familiar taste and smell of smoke fill my lungs, numbing the fraying edges of my nerves. The slight sting in my throat immediately quells my rising level of anxiety.

I look ahead to see him coming towards me. His lopsided grin bends downwards and his eyebrows crease in a frown as he sees exactly what I am doing. As he approaches, his eyes travel back and forth between my face and the offending object I hold between my fingers.

I take another drag.

He stops a foot or two away from me, the slight frown still etched into his features.

Tai parts his mouth to speak. "You know, I won't kiss you if your breath stinks of smoke."

…

…

"What the fuck?"

I can't really bring myself to say anything else to that, as he stands there and his eyes peer into mine. I stare right back, unable to succumb to the challenge. His eyes are like chocolate: warm, inviting and ever-so sweet. I love chocolate.

I love his eyes even more.

I exhale, bending my lips sideways so the smoke won't hit him straight in the face.

"No one said you have to kiss me." I say, finally gathering my thoughts.

At this, he sighs and runs a hand through his thick brown mop.

'Yama…" he whimpers softly, as if he is in some excruciating pain. His eyes once again search mine.

And then he leans forward and kisses me anyway.

As he pulls away, his lips curl in mild disgust and he sticks out his tongue. "You really do taste like smoke."

I try to look unfazed and once again put the cigarette to my lips, while my heart does somersaults inside of my chest. Why does he always do that?

"Again, no one ever said you _have_ to kiss me." I meet his eyes again, feigning disinterest.

Tai inches closer to me, his form hovering over mine and his eyes flicker to my lips. "But I like to."

Fuck. Stupid stomach. Stupid Butterflies. Stupid Taichi.

His lips almost brush my nose and his fingers dance over my chest, toying with the cross that hangs loosely from my neck. His eyes are still fixed on my lips and it is hard not to shudder in pleasure at the proximity, or bite my lip in anticipation. Or give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he affects me.

His fingers ghost down my chest, tracing the edges of my V-neck t-shirt. I feel my eyelashes flutter. His tan hand moves down over the shirt and comes to rest at my side. Another small frown graces his features as his chocolate eyes flick down to my torso. His fingers caress my side, feeling the contours of my ribs.

"You've lost a lot of weight, Yama." His voice is barely above a whisper and his breath lingers on my face.

I can't bring myself to open my mouth, because, surely, I can't conjure any words. His fingers are flames at my side. Not scorching, or painful, or anything of the sort. Just _heat_. Physically, anyway. His touch scorches my mind in ways that are a thousand times more painful than any flame.

"I'm not anorexic, Tai." And it's true, I'm not. I simply don't have the appetite to eat as much as I used to. Just because I can't wolf down three portions in one sitting, does not mean that I deprive myself of food.

But he only shakes his head, indicating that I missed the point. His eyes are still fixed at my side. "Smoking is really bad for you."

_No shit, Sherlock._ I want to say, but he continues.

"Why do you do it?" And his eyes peer into mine again. His eyes are almost impossible to lie to.

So I look away.

It's not like he could possibly understand. Not to mention, it is partly- Largely? Fully? I don't know, I haven't decided yet- his fault, anyway. His stupid games with me are really aggravating. Some days, he kisses me and holds me and whispers things in my ear and other days, he playfully punches my arm and proceeds to talk about soccer, or Hikari, or his cat or some other trivial thing; his fingers never linger during those times, his glances are never meaningful. And I never know which Tai I get until he's in front of me.

He makes me question myself. He makes me feel like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff, ready to fall, as he stands behind me, with the power to either take my hand and pull me to safety, or push me over the edge.

_It's because of you!_ I want to shout. _You're the reason for this! Can't you see what you're doing?_ I want to pound my fists to his chest. _Can't you see how much you're hurting me? Confusing me? _Like a drum.

But I keep my mouth shut and shrug instead.

He pulls himself away from me, and I regrettably notice the absence of the heat. I'd rather have my mind charred than to not feel his touch. His eyes are angry. But he is still close enough to touch.

He is always close enough to touch.

A heavier frown forms on his face.

"When did you stop caring about your own life, Yama?" His voice is almost calm. But he was never good at hiding his emotions, and I can detect the ice and the frustration and the slight desperation.

His voice, his fingers, his eyes, reverse the numbing calm that the cigarette has instilled and I can feel myself grow anxious once more. A dull ache creeps to the back of my head.

I tried asking him once why he kisses me and looks at me and touches me in that way. He told me it's because I am beautiful. I snorted and he just shut me up with a kiss. Either I hadn't make myself clear enough in what I was asking, or he was avoiding the question; Tai may never be able to hide his emotions well, but is the king of avoiding questions he doesn't want to answer. And I didn't push it. I am afraid that if I do, he will shy away and I will lose those kisses and caresses. I am afraid to lose the affection that he sometimes shows.

There's a reason I'm not the Child of Courage.

I try not to sound as tired as I feel. "Tai. It's a cigarette, not a gun, not a knife." I know he is as tired of this argument as I am. Why can't he be as fickle with his opinions on my habits as he is with his affections?

My hand releases the shortening butt. It falls to the ground and I crush the remnants with the ball of my foot.

"Happy?" My eyes shoot to his. The frown hasn't completely disappeared from his face.

"I won't be happy until I see a nicotine patch on your arm."

I roll my eyes and start to move past him. His fingers ghost over my back and he embraces me from behind-will he push me over or pull me back to safety?-, burying his nose in my hair. He inhales deeply and tightens his hold, his arms engulfing my torso.

"You still smell amazing, Yama." His voice is muffled by my hair. "The smoke hasn't changed the way your hair smells yet." I feel the reverberations of his voice through my skull and refrain from shivering in ecstasy.

"Gee, thanks." I manage, words dripping with sarcasm. I feel his lips travel to the base of my neck.

We stay frozen like that for a minute, until I feel my anxiety- and other emotions I cannot place- overflow.

I suddenly feel like I am suffocating.

I force myself from his arms and take a step back.

"We should get going, or we'll miss the movie." I start to walk, not waiting for him to follow, though I know he will soon catch up with me.

He does catch up. And then proceeds to link his arm with mine.

Stupid Tai. He thinks the smoking will suffocate me, will kill me. He doesn't realize he is doing it on his own.

_.fin. _

(_A/N:_I picture Yamato as wearing one of those low low v-neck tees that accents toned-not overly done- muscles. They are the sexiest thing to happen to men. Also. he's not religious. It's fashion. and the vneck always needs an accessory. and a cross is probably the easiest to describe and least flat-out-stereotypically-gay thing he could wear)

So I'd just like to point out that this is the first story I've written that's actually been over 1000 words. (Not counting Introductions. But I can't count Introductions. That's HP mania). So woo hoo.

Also, this is the first piece of (planned, not prompted, not totally crapy..I hope) writing that I've done in over a year. And it feels like a bit of a release, actually. I've been so wrapped up in my mind, that I've found it impossible to let any sort of creativity, motivation or inspiration out of me.

And, while I've loved these two for quite a bit, this is my first time writing them. Or anything Digimon since grade six. Huh.


End file.
